


Love in the Time of the Espheni

by sartiebodyshots



Category: Falling Skies
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 08:39:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3350393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sartiebodyshots/pseuds/sartiebodyshots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Our favorite Volm/human couples + Valentine's Day.  It's occasionally schmoopy, occasionally angsty, all kinds of gr8 things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Under Flickering Lights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sartielifts](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Sartielifts).



> This was written for the Swedish Cochise to my beardless Tom Mason. The asshat to my flawless bastard-dom. The lifts to my bodyshots. The beauty and grace to my Miss United States (or falls flat on her face). A glorious ray of light and Scandinavia.
> 
> Ah gawd, go check out tumblr user sartielifts, will ya?

            “You have an entire holiday to celebrate your broodmates?” Cochise asks in disbelief. 

            Tom marks his place in his book, looks over at Cochise and nods.  “Yes, we did.  Valentine’s Day.  I always really liked it.”

            “How did you celebrate?” Cochise asks. 

His arm is wrapped around Tom and he’s running his fingers through his hair, occasionally dipping down to play with his beard.  Tom shifts and adjusts himself, feeling delightfully warm.

“There’s usually a nice, romantic dinner.  Somewhere too expensive and too nice, or else somewhere meaningful, like the place you first met them.  When we were still poor grad students, Rebecca and I went out to the absolute nicest restaurant we could get reservations to.  Then we couldn’t afford to buy food for the rest of the month, but it was still worth it,” Tom says wistfully.  “We would usually go dancing after dinner, too.”

There’s a lot of things he misses from before, of course, but dancing is definitely up there.  There’s something about swaying against the person you love, totally in sync, that is intimately appealing.

“That sounds like an enjoyable time,” Cochise says thoughtfully.  “You and Rebecca celebrated Valentine’s Day before you had offspring?”

“Of course, for years beforehand.  Do you guys have kind of equivalent holiday?” Tom asks. 

“We do not.  We do not celebrate the relationships between two adult Volm until they have produced an egg,” Cochise says.  “Relationships are considered unimportant before such an occurrence.” 

“Too bad.  Don’t get me wrong, having kids is incredible, but there’s also plenty to celebrate about your partner before you have kids.  Or, at least there should be, if you’re gonna have kids with them,” Tom says. 

“The Volm view things differently,” Cochise replies.  “We believe that there can be no love or permanent attachment until eggs are laid.  In fact, ‘love’ is a very loose translation of how we express our emotions for broodmate.”

            Tom suddenly feels nausea sweep over him.  “I think I’m going to sleep now, Cochise.”

            “Sleep well, Tom Mason,” Cochise says.  He gets up, turns off the light, and then returns to bed, wrapping his arms around Tom. 

            It takes forever for Tom to fall asleep that night, and for once, Tom feels no warmth or safety laying in Cochise’s arms.

            The next few days, Tom puts a lot of effort into avoiding Cochise.  There’s something about knowing that Cochise can’t love him.  There’s something else about knowing that he can never, ever fully give the person he loves what he needs to be fulfilled.  He can’t even look Cochise in the eye.

It confuses the hell out of him because Cochise is so damn tender all the time.  He insists on holding him every night, even when Tom tells him he doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to.  And when Tom wakes up in the night, he always finds Cochise stroking his hair or rubbing his shoulder gently.

And why?  Why does Cochise keep doing these things when he doesn’t love Tom?  When he _can’t_ love Tom. 

It’s painful, discovering that the person with whom he somehow managed to make a meaningful connection- his first meaningful connection since the death of his wife- may just be using him as some kind of experiment or as a bit of fun.  Maybe Tom is just the latest in a long string of interstellar playthings, sucked in by Cochise’s good looks and adorable charms.

“Are you alright, Tom Mason?” Cochise asks him one afternoon.  He’s cornered him in a storage closet, pressing his hand against Tom’s cheek.  “You have seemed distant and unhappy recently.” 

Tom sighs, leaning into Cochise’s hand despite himself.  This isn’t the best place to have this conversation.  “I am fine.”

“You are deceiving me,” Cochise says.  “I have learned how to tell.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tom says.

Cochise inclines his head.  “I will attempt to worry only a small amount, but I cannot promise not to worry at all,” he pauses, stroking his cheekbone.  It’s when he takes pauses like this, pauses where it feels like Cochise is turning him inside out just by looking at him, where Tom can almost convince himself that Cochise could love him.  “If you are not already occupied tonight, I would like to see you after your last meeting.”

Tom nods, despite himself.  “Yeah.  Okay.”  Maybe he can confront Cochise about breaking up, or whatever, tonight.

Cochise’s face lights up.  “Excellent.  I will wait for you at the edge of the Volm compound.” 

“See you later,” Tom says dully.

Cochise leans down and kisses him quickly before letting Tom go.  Tom spends the rest of the day trying to figure out what Cochise could want to do tonight, especially so relatively in the middle of nowhere. 

After Tom’s last meeting of the day (he’s trying to develop some form of legislature for Charleston, but there’s a lot of disagreement about exactly how to do it), he goes back to his room to wash his face and grab a coat for the night- it’s getting cold outside. 

Feet dragging, he walks to the edge of Charleston, where he sees Cochise waiting for him.  He’s dressed a little differently than usual, wearing a cloak made of some shimmering material that Tom has never seen before.  He looks handsome.

When Cochise sees him, he perks up and holds out his hand.  “Tom Mason!  You look exemplary this evening.” 

Tom mumbles a thank you and lets Cochise take his hand.  He’s led into the forest and Cochise pauses to face him.

“If there is anything distasteful or incorrect, please inform me,” Cochise says.

Tom furrows his brow.  “What do you mean?”

“I have attempted to prepare for you a Valentine’s Day.  Your sons helped me with some of the details, but I am not certain whether or not you will find it acceptable,” Cochise says.

Tom shakes his head, trying to breathe.  “No.”

“What?”

“No, you can’t.  I won’t… No.”

“What is the matter, Tom Mason?” Cochise asks, voice full of hurt.  “I thought you said that you liked Valentine’s Day.”

“I do.  I did,” Tom says.  He tries to keep his voice steady.  “With someone I love and with someone who loves me.” 

His last Valentine’s Day had been with Rebecca, of course.  Hal had watched Ben and Matt for them and they had flown into New York City to catch a show on Broadway.  They had spent the night in a nice hotel and then flown back home the next day.  It had been ridiculous and extravagant, but, god, it had been such a good night. 

He’s not spoiling years of good memories just because Cochise has decided to make a mockery of the day. 

“But Tom Mason.  I love you.  I care for you greatly and I do love you,” Cochise says.  “On all the worlds that I have ever been to, I have never met anyone like you.”

“Just stop!  Okay?” Tom yells, backing away.  “You told me that relationships didn’t count until they produced an egg, that Volm don’t love until then.  And, well, we don’t have an egg, Cochise, and we never will.  Humans don’t make eggs.  You don’t love me; you told me you can’t!”

The silence stretches on, hampered only by the painful pounding of his heart.   He looks up at the space above Cochise’s head, staring hard at the pinpricks of light that mimic the prickling in his eyes. 

“Tom Mason,” Cochise’s voice is low and rough as he takes a few steps forward towards him. 

Tom steps back, shaking his head.  “Don’t touch me.”

Cochise holds his hands up in a gesture of surrender.  “I will not touch you, but, please listen to me.”

Tom breathes shakily and then nods.  “Okay.  I’m listening.”

“It is true that among my people, relationships require reproduction for validity, but it was not always so.  Before we became embroiled in eternal war, love and affection abounded, even between Volm who did not have eggs.  I did not understand the meaning of such things until I came to Earth.”  Cochise leans back, just a little.  “I did not understand how much we have lost.”

“What are you saying?” Tom asks quietly, daring to look down at Cochise. 

Cochise is trembling lightly, arms crossed as he rocks back and forth.  His face is in shadow, so Tom can’t read his expression, but he suspects that he’d look agitated.  “What I am saying, Tom Mason, is that despite the ideals that I have been taught and raised with, I am drawn to you.  I do not care that we will never have an egg together.  I care for you.  I love you.  That’s all that matters.”

Tom takes a shaky breath, starting to smile.  “That’s… wow, Cochise.  Wow.” 

“May I touch you now?  Please?” Cochise says, voice filled with desperation. 

Tom answers by stepping forward and wrapping his arms tightly around Cochise.  He stands up on his tiptoes so that he can rest his head on Cochise’s shoulder.  Warmth seeps back into him as Cochise holds him close.

“I am sorry for the unhappiness my carelessly chosen words caused you, Tom Mason,” Cochise says, voice rumbling low in his chest.  “It was never my intention to cause you distress, simply to provide the generalized Volm view on relationships.”

“I’m just really glad we cleared that up,” Tom says. 

“Next time you are distressed, please come and speak to me,” Cochise requests.  “That way, you may spend less time unhappy.”

“I just…” Tom breathes slowly and pulls away just a little, so he doesn’t have to stand on his tiptoes anymore.  “I didn’t even know what to say.  I thought I was just one of a bunch of alien playthings for you, which would have been embarrassing.”

“Nothing could be farther from the truth,” Cochise says, kissing him softly. 

“Uh, if I haven’t messed it up, I’m okay with Valentine’s Day now,” Tom says sheepishly. 

“Excellent,” Cochise says, keeping a hand on Tom’s lower back as he leads him deeper into the woods. 

A minute later, Tom finds himself in a small clearing.  In the center, there is a small makeshift table with two place settings and a lit candle in the center.  That’s not the most impressive thing, though.  The clearing is surrounded with little flickering lights.  At first, he think they’re candles too, but they’re moving.

“Your children told me candlelight was essential, but I believed that filling the woods with fire would be unwise, so I compromised,” Cochise says, breath tickling Tom’s ear.  “They are small drones.  I hope it is acceptable.”

“It’s beautiful,” Tom whispers. 

He steps forward, walking into the clearing properly.  Cochise’s touch is light on his back as he guides him to the table and helps him into his seat.  While Cochise walks to the other side, Tom examines the food on his plate.  None of it looks familiar.

“What’s for dinner?”

Cochise fiddles his fingers and coughs a little.  “You have expressed an interest in Volm cuisine.  Not all of our food is enjoyable to the human palate, as your sons discovered, but some is.”

Tom laughs.  “You had them try it?”

“They volunteered when I told them I wanted to surprise you for Valentine’s Day,” Cochise smiles and looks down.  “It is a good thing.  Ben Mason vomited one of the dishes that he tested.  According to him, such an occurrence would have ‘ruined the mood,’ as he put it.” 

“Just a little bit,” Tom says, making a mental note to thank his boys for being such good sports. 

He takes his silverware and carefully cuts into a radioactively blue piece of food.  Cognizant of Cochise’s eyes on him, Tom gingerly takes a bite. It’s slippery and it has an unusual texture, but once he gets to the taste of it, it blooms across his tongue, surprisingly zesty.

“You didn’t tell me you were a cook, Cochise!” Tom says, delighted.

“Truthfully, I am a very poor cook,” Cochise admits.  “I had some help from my subordinates.  Is that acceptable for a Valentine’s Day dinner?”

“It definitely is,” Tom assures him.  He cups Cochise’s cheek with a hand.  “Thank you for doing this for me, Cochise.”

Cochise turns to kiss his palm and they continue with dinner.  The food explodes across his palate in ways that Tom’s not used to, which makes eating the food kind of a mini adventure.  There’s some kind of stringy vegetable thing that gets caught in his teeth, but it’s still all delicious.  Even though it’s chilly in the mid-February night, he’s enjoying his night.

When they are done eating, Tom stands up and offers his hand to Cochise. 

            “Do you require something else?” Cochise asks as he grasps his hand.

            Tom pulls him to his feet with a smile.  “Dance with me.”

            “I am afraid that I failed to bring music.  I do not know any human dances anyway,” Cochise says.

            “We won’t do anything fancy, then,” Tom says. 

            He takes one of Cochise’s hands and places it on his shoulder before slipping his own hand around his waist.  Holding Cochise’s other hand, he starts to sway a little.

            “It’s easy,” Tom assures him.  “You just sway with me in time with the music.”

            “But Tom Mason, we have no music,” Cochise says.

            “Just a second,” Tom says before starting to hum a random tune.

            He doesn’t think it’s any particular song, but it’s slow and easy.  Kind of sad, but mostly happy.  Cochise manages to step on his feet a few times, apologizing profusely each time.  Tom can’t find it in him to care, though, wrapped up in his lover’s embrace in the twinkling lights. 


	2. Hands

            “I have been informed that there is a ridiculous human holiday this week,” Shaq says.  They’re getting dressed after having an afternoon not-so-quickie.  

            “What?” Hal asks.  He’s more than a little distracted by the sight of Shaq’s still mostly naked body.  Getting distracted by Shaq has become more and more of a problem recently. 

            “Valentine’s Day,” Shaq says with thinly veiled distaste.  “Where you celebrate your partners with _romance_.”

            Hal laughs and kisses his cheek.  “Oh!  Yeah.  I had totally forgot,” he says and then frowns.  “How did you know?”

            “Chichauk Il'sichninch Cha'tichol has been telling me about Earth traditions,” Shaq says, his distaste no longer thinly disguised.  “He is making plans to surprise your father for the holiday.”

            “Aw, yeah?  That’s sweet.  Dad’s gonna love that,” Hal says.  “I’ll have to ask Cochise if he needs help.” 

            Shaq blows air out of his nose holes.  “You are planning on encouraging him.” 

            “Of course,” Hal says, wrapping his arms around Shaq’s now fully clothed body.  “I know you don’t like it when Cochise gets into the human spirit of things, but there’s no harm in it.” 

            “It is not the Volm way,” Shaq explains.  “We do not obtain things from other cultures; we must maintain our own.”

            “I dunno, Shaq, you don’t seem to have a problem picking up me,” Hal points out, nodding towards his bed. 

            “You are very light.  It is not difficult to pick you up,” Shaq says. 

            Hal squints at him.  Sometimes he thinks Shaq is just messing with him to avoid answering questions. 

            “Anyway,” Hal says, drawing the word out, “why bring up Valentine’s Day?  It’s not like you celebrate it.” 

            “I thought that, perhaps, you would wish to have a meal together on that day,” Shaq says.  When Hal looks up at him, he’s studying the wall above his head seriously.

            “You want to celebrate Valentine’s Day?” Hal asks, raising an eyebrow.  He definitely had not been expecting that.

            “I did not say that,” Shaq says.  “I said I thought perhaps you would like to have a meal together, coincidentally on that day.”

            “Oh right, of course,” Hal teases him.  “How could I have misunderstood that?”

            “I do not know, Hal Mason.  You are quite nonsensical sometimes,” Shaq says.

            “Hey!” Hal protests.  He’s figured out that that’s Shaq’s not so secret way of calling him dense, on the rare occasions that he doesn’t just call him dense.

            Shaq just shrugs and starts getting things together to go out on patrol. 

            “I can’t wait for Valentine’s Day, babe,” Hal says, laughing as Shaq sighs irritably at the nickname. 

            “I suppose I look forward to consuming food with you,” Shaq says. 

            Hal is well aware that that’s the closest thing he’ll get to enthusiasm, so he just kisses Shaq again.  As always when saying goodbye, Shaq pulls him into a hard kiss that bruises his lips and leaves him regretting that there’s no time for another round.

            Hal whistles on his way back to camp, lips still tingling from the kiss.

            On Valentine’s Day, Hal shows up at Shaq’s quarters around dinnertime, a bouquet of wildflowers in hand.  Taking a deep breath, he knocks on Shaq’s door, waving friendlily at the Volm passing by who are steadily ignoring his presence. 

            “Please identify yourself,” Shaq calls out from the other side of the door.

            “Who do ya think?” Hal calls back, rolling his eyes.

            A few seconds later, Shaq opens the door.  “I did not know who it was, which is why I asked.”

            “Yeah, yeah, sure,” Hal says, holding out the flowers.  “These are for you.”

            Shaq takes the bouquet and examines it carefully.  Before Hal can stop him, Shaq plucks off the head of one of the flowers and pops it in his mouth.

            “This is not going to be sufficient nutrition for the both of us, Hal Mason, but this is an acceptable snack,” Shaq says.

He’s almost smiling at Hal, except in the whole time that Hal has known Shaq, he’s never _actually_ smiled (and Hal knows that Volm can smile- he’s seen Cochise do it plenty).  There’s this look, though, where Shaq looks a little less disgruntled by everything, and Hal calls it his not-frown.  Not to Shaq’s face, though.

            “That’s not food, Shaq,” Hal says.  “That’s decoration.  It’s traditional to give your lover flowers, especially on Valentine’s Day.” 

            “Ah,” Shaq says noncommittally.  He sets the flowers on the dresser and tilts his head as he looks at them.  “They are very colorful.”

            “You’re welcome,” Hal says jauntily, kissing Shaq’s cheek as he walks into the room properly and closes the door behind him.  “So, where’s dinner?”

            Shaq turns to look at him.  “Did you not bring food?”

            “No…” Hal shakes his head.  “You’re the one who invited me for a Valentine’s dinner; I figured you would have the food.”

            “Is that the custom among your people?” Shaq asks.

            “Kinda.”

            “I had simply assumed that, as this is your holiday, you would provide the dinner,” Shaq says.

            Despite the fact that he is not, apparently, getting any dinner tonight, Hal smiles widely.  “You just admitted it!” he says gleefully.

            “What?”

            “You just admitted that you invited me here to celebrate Valentine’s Day!  Because you liiiiiike me,” Hal says, giggling.  Giggling in a manly fashion, of course. 

            “I said no such thing,” Shaq says stoically.

            “You did though!  You said that you expected me to bring the food because it’s my people’s holiday! Ergo-“ Is he using that word right?  He can never remember.  Close enough, probably.  “You expected that we would be celebrating Valentine’s Day.  Not just having a random meal coincidentally on Valentine’s Day.” 

            Shaq just makes a snorting noise and sits on his bed.  “So, _if_ we were celebrating this ridiculous holiday, what would we do if we had no dinner?  Not that we are celebrating.”

            “Well, usually, we’d go out to a restaurant, but there are no restaurants anymore,” Hal says, plopping himself in Shaq’s lap.  “Except Pope’s bar thing, and I don’t think we’d be welcome there.”

            “I would not wish to spend a meal there anyway.  John Pope is a most unpleasant human,” Shaq says.  This time, his distaste is palpable. 

            Hal rests his head against Shaq’s shoulder.  “We can agree on that.” 

            Shaq presses Hal closer to his body.  “There is, perhaps, one place we can go.” 

            Hal tilts his head to look up at Shaq.  “Where?”

“You must promise to not use any irritating nicknames for me while we are there.” 

            “Does that include Shaq?” Hal asks. 

            Shaq blows air in Hal’s face as a sign of irritation.  “Please refrain from calling it more than necessary.”

            “Deal!” Hal asks.  “Where can we go, then?”

            “As the second in command, there is an officer only eating compartment that I have access to.  There may be other Volm there,” Shaq says.

            Hal is floored.  He’s aware that Shaq doesn’t actually like to be seen with him too much, at least in front of the Volm.  It doesn’t usually bother him- while he’s not sure of all the details, he knows that there’s an intense taboo against the Volm having relationships with aliens.  He also knows that Shaq takes his role as a Volm very seriously. 

            Being an alien’s dirty little secret is kind of exciting.

            “Are you sure?” Hal asks.  He doesn’t want to make Shaq uncomfortable or risk his career. 

            “Yes, I am.  You have some experience with Volm food, correct?”  Shaq asks. 

            “Yeah, I helped Cochise plan dinner tonight,” Hal says.  “You guys have some good food.”

            “It is all nutritious,” Shaq says.  “Are you ready to depart?”

            “Yeah!” Hal says, jumping to his feet. 

            Hal follows Shaq through the maze of the Volm compound, resisting the urge to grab his hand or tease him.  He knows that teasing Shaq now might not be in the fun way.  Still, he brushes his side lightly against Shaq’s in a hopefully discreet way.

            They reach the restaurant and Hal is more than a little surprised.  He had been expecting drab grey walls, but it’s brightly colored and decorated with what he’s assuming is Volm art.  Honestly, Hal isn’t sure how to process it.

            Hal realizes that he’s staring when Shaq grabs his elbow and leads him to a table.  There are a few other Volm eating quietly and Hal can feel their eyes on them. 

            They’re sitting at a booth towards the back of the restaurant, Shaq facing the front.  The seat beneath him is kind of hard and table is higher up than Hal is used to, and he struggles to casually rest his elbows on it.  How is he gonna look cool for his alien lover if he can’t casually rest his elbows on the table? 

            Leaning in close, Hal asks, “Is there a menu?”

            “It is in the Volm Standardized Tongue,” Shaq says.  “If you tell me what food you enjoyed while tasting for Chichauk Il'sichninch Cha'tichol, I will order it for you.”

            “Uh,” Hal wracks his brain.  “There was some kind of purple-y meat thing.  A bright orange bread.  Some kind of maybe fruit that was a bunch of colors.  Those were all tasty.”

            Shaq stares up at the space above Hal’s head again.  “Sometimes you give me a headache.”

            Hal flashes him a smile.  “You love it.”

            Shaq harrumphs and gestures a waiter over.  They speak in rapid Volm and Hal almost feels dizzy.  The thought of learning the language enters his head, but then he remembers that he can’t even pronounce Shaq’s actual name.  That’s a pretty crappy start.

            The room starts to fill up with other Volm, and as they eat, Hal can feel them watching them again.  He tries to keep on his best behavior, not teasing or touching Shaq too obviously.  It’s a tough battle- he really wants to try sliding his foot up Shaq’s thigh to see what happens- but he sees how increasingly uncomfortable Shaq looks.

            Yeah, Hal likes to tease Shaq, but not to actually upset him. 

            “This is really good food,” Hal tries to lighten the mood in what he immediately realizes is the most boring way possible.

            “I am pleased you find it adequate,” Shaq says.

            “Not adequate,” Hal corrects him.  “Really good.  I’m kind of surprised you guys are such good cooks.”

            “We preserved much of our old culture on datachips, including recipes,” Shaq explains tersely.  It’s not the pleasant, friendly kind of terse that Shaq usually uses, but a deeper, angrier kind of terse. 

            Hal finishes his food quickly so that they can leave before Shaq gets too upset.  Pretty much as soon as they’re done, he grabs Shaq and tells him that he needs to leave.

            “Are you alright?” Shaq asks him once they return to his room.

            “Yeah, I just thought that you wanted out of there,” Hal says. 

            “It was fine,” Shaq says, closed off.

            “Come on,” Hal says.  He pulls Shaq towards the bed and slips behind him to start undoing the laces of his clothes. 

            “I am afraid that I do not feel like intercourse right now, Hal Mason,” Shaq says.  Now, that’s a sure a sign as anything that something is wrong with Shaq.  He’s always in the mood.

            “Okay,” Hal says, continuing to undress him.  “I have something else in mind.”

            “What?”

            “You’ll see.  Lay down on your front,” Hal says.  “It’s a human thing.”

            Shaq looks like he’s about to argue, but then sighs and listens to him.  Hal straddles Shaq and then cracks his knuckles. 

            “If any of this feels wrong, just tell me,” Hal says.

            “That noise sounded wrong,” Shaq says.

            “Don’t worry about it,” Hal says.  “Just try to relax, okay.”

            Hal starts by running his fingers lightly down Shaq’s spine, but then returns to his shoulders.  Shaq’s skin is rough under his nimble fingers and god, is he tense.  It’s a challenge, one that Hal enjoys. 

            After a while, he can feel Shaq start to relax, so he moves a little further down.  His hands travel over familiar ridges, and he admires how they look all laid out like this.  Usually, he only catches glimpses of them while they’re in the middle of something else.  They’re gorgeous, though, lightly rolling down his back. 

            Shoulders aching, he eventually manages to make his way down to the base of Shaq’s spine.  He leans down to kiss the space between his shoulder blades, pleased to see how relaxed he looks now. 

            “How are you feeling?” Hal asks softly.

            “Quite well,” Shaq says.  “That was quite the experience.”

            “We call it a massage,” Hal says. 

            Suddenly, Shaq turns onto his back and Hal is almost thrown off of him, except Shaq reaches up to steady him.  When Hal looks down at Shaq, he’s pleased to see another not-frown spread across his face.  Hal beams right back.  

            “Would you, perhaps, like to stay here tonight?” Shaq asks.  “I still do not feel like intercourse, but it could still be a pleasant time.”

            Usually, they have sex and then have to rush off somewhere.  Hal is pretty sure they’ve never just leisurely laid together before. 

            “Because it’s Valentine’s Day?” Hal teases, laying down and stretching out next to Shaq.

            “That is merely a coincidence,” Shaq says.

            Hal rests his head on Shaq’s shoulder and then grabs Shaq’s arm to adjust it so it’s wrapped around him.  He tosses an arm carelessly around Shaq, settling down for a luxuriously long night full of absolutely nothing.

            Late at night, when Hal is almost asleep, Shaq rumbles softly, “I hope you had an enjoyable Valentine’s Day, Hal Mason.”

            Hal laughs sleepily, pressing his face a little further against Shaq’s shoulder.  He knew it, he knew it, he knew it.  “You too.”

            Hesitant, caring hands run gently through his hair.  

**Author's Note:**

> Unrelated confession time: I really wish I had the Tom Mason beard tbh.


End file.
